


Rescue Me From The Lovers In My Life

by StripedScribe



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Damsels in Distress, Fights, Gift Exchange, Hostage Situations, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Rescue, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: It was only logical, surely, that when you'd fallen deeply in love with Daredevil, that you needed to see him more. To make the unrequited love, well, requited.And the best way to see Daredevil? To be rescued by himFeaturing amazing art by Mint, written for the Team Red Server Valentine's Pop
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Team Red Server Valentine's Day Pop





	Rescue Me From The Lovers In My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Mint! - [(AO3)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway) [(Tumblr)](https://artbymintcookies.tumblr.com/)

He never planned to stay this late at the office, but it was easier, sometimes, when he was the only one there. Easier to look through a difficult case without the distraction of walk-ins, or the noise of his colleagues. He knew the others took their work home for the same reason, but the office kept him on track.

Karen and Matt had left hours ago, asking him to not stay too long, to keep his evenings to relax, not to work. A false promise they all made to each other, that they’d make time to relax. But now he realised the sun had long gone down, and the cold air was dragging in, and so he shrugged on his coat, collecting his briefcase, turning out the lights.

It wasn’t far to his apartment, and he usually walked, trying to keep a little active, beyond all the pacing he did at work and in court. Something niggled in his mind, suggesting a taxi, but it was nice out, little chance of rain in the few blocks distance, it wasn’t worth the money.

Until he felt a prickle in the back of his neck, like he was being followed. Like there were eyes on him. He picked up the pace a little, trying to not make it obvious, but trying to get home quicker. His keys, in his hand, slipping down into a defensive position, for what little it would do if he was attacked. One block left. What would anyone want with him?

Only he was wearing a suit, and most people who wore suits actually had money. A briefcase of money, like you’d see in the films. Which is what the muggers suddenly surrounding him were surely after. 3, no 4 men, their hoods up, and the glint of knives in their hands.

He’d be no match for them. Even as they leered closer, he was trying to find his wallet, to just give them that and to be done with it. What little cash that was in there wasn’t worth a hospital visit. “What do you want, my cash? My phone? I’m just trying to get home.”

“Fancy suit like that, and you’re walking home? More money than sense.” Foggy tried not to laugh, the suit was the one he’d graduated in, their profits were minimal. His briefcase, not full of cash, but of case notes, and a laptop clinging onto life. One of the men, who he’d instantly nicknamed Beard due to his attempt at facial hair, was up in his face, trying, and succeeding, to intimidate him.

“Just take the wallet.” He held it out, hoping for them to just take it and leave, for someone to intervene, for anything to happen to make this stop. All these years living in Hell’s Kitchen, he’d been lucky at how little he’d been mugged on the street. Luck, or that they were just choosing different targets. Beard just laughed at him, spitting in his face and moving as though to snatch the wallet.

Beard’s arm still outstretched, he froze, as a shadow appeared to run across the rooftop, dropping down to the street. Taking the muggers by surprise, they soon turned to square up to the Devil instead, leaving Foggy space to move to a doorway, to hide, and watch the fight. In the haze of the street-lights, with the light glinting off the men’s knives, and off the Devil’s armour, it was almost beautiful. But maybe he was biased, noticing himself paying more attention to the way the vigilante moved, and slowly realising he wanted to meet, get to know, or just talk to him. Too soon the fight was over, the men sat on the floor groaning, or blocks away, running with their tail between their legs.

The Devil’s eyes looked over to him, head tilted in a question. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Oh his voiced squeaked. “Yeah, thank you.” Better, but still. He was nervous, he could have died. And the devil spoke to him, so. That’s enough to make anyone a bit overwhelmed, right?

“Get yourself home, not safe out here.” The vigilante slunk back up to the rooftop, soon disappearing from Foggy’s sight.

“Yep, getting home.” He carried on walking, a lot faster than before, soon arriving home, and locking the door. Stopping, and sliding down to sit on the floor, head in his hands. “Fuck. How do you make friends with a vigilante.”

To him, it was obvious. To get to know the Devil more you had to see him more, and to see him, you had to be rescued. Had to show that affection, try to help him out. So he took up walking home every evening after work, and staying later most evenings. To the others, he played it up as wanting to get a bit healthier and trying to save money on taxis. He couldn’t let them know why he was really doing it. The ridicule. Although Karen had already been saved by the Devil, she would probably understand. He could probably bond with her over crushing on the vigilante. Not that he’s going to tell her.

* * *

The next time it happened, he was expecting it. So what, he’d got impatient and detoured closer to the docks, where he knew the Devil had been more recently. Any feelings of nerves, he quickly dismissed, any thoughts of worst case scenarios, immediately ignored. He was a little more prepared now, one hand wrapped around a penknife, just in case the Devil was slower, he could make a start on whatever came at him.

He had a vision, a fleeting image of fighting alongside the Devil. He could dream, at least. Although, as it was, he wandered a bit too close to what appeared to be a drug deal. Hearing the threats, the pleas, an attempt at bartering. He tried to sneak closer, to work out who was in the wrong, who he should speak to, attack, do his part. Only to be shooed away like a child, by the Devil that suddenly dropped from the sky. “What are you doing, go home!”

A failed attempt. He went home, and carried on brainstorming. Perhaps it would be better to meet him at the end of an evening, when there’s no criminals around? He’d made a twitter, Devil Spotting, and through the powers of similarly nosy strangers, had worked out the horns disappeared about 2/3 am most days. And so, armed with a flask, he’d woken up at a ridiculous time for a walk. Eyes concentrating on his phone to try and find the Devil’s last known location, he missed the footsteps running along the rooftop.

“What are you doing out this late?” A gravelly, growling voice spoke, and from the shadows the Devil showed himself.

“Couldn’t sleep, taking a walk. Is that a crime?” So proud of himself, his voice didn’t waver.

”It’s not the safest. Are you trying to put yourself in danger?”

He sighed, trying to work out a safe answer. “I enjoy walks.” Stupid, stupid answer Foggy.

The Devil simply chuckled, before disappearing with a shout of “Be safe.”

“I think he likes me.”

So staying up most of the night might have not been his best idea.

Matt and Karen were full of concern for his tiredness, and his excuse of nightmares stealing his sleep. He tried to brush them off with promises of sleeping properly the next night, but he could tell by the way both of them look at him that they didn’t quite believe him. During the day, they both try to pull him aside to ask what’s going on. He lies, stressed about a case, about money, just general lack of sleep. Noise from nearby construction, traffic, a neighbours new dog. Anything but the truth, of him trying to track down and befriend a vigilante. When he wasn’t working, he became obsessed with the twitter page, tracking down where the Devil was last seen, where would be the best place for him to take a late night walk to.

He became more and more reckless. Walking for longer, and for later. He didn’t notice how the crime seemed to get worse around the Kitchen, even as people commented on the Devil attacking less and simply patrolling more.

The city at night was really quite beautiful. If it wasn’t for the street lights, he’d imagine you’d be able to see the stars. Perhaps from the rooftops you could, perhaps that was why the Devil spent so much time up there, where he could see the city, and the stars. But down here on the streets, the glare of cars racing round corners interrupted what could be a peaceful late night walk. A much more pleasant interruption would be the resident vigilante, but he hadn’t found anything yet worthy of attracting his attention. From what the internet was saying, it was a fairly quiet night across Hell’s Kitchen, the Devil had been spotted, he was out, but not overly busy.

Which meant when the taxi speeding the corner mounted the curb and hit a wall, he was there to pull Foggy out of the way.

“If you’re going to insist on these late night walks, at least keep your eyes where you’re going.” He dropped him back to his feet, before moving to the car and checking on the driver. “He’s fine, you’re fine.”

“Sorry, thanks. I suppose I was lucky you were here.” Stood face to face, they weren’t that different in height, although the horns gave the Devil that intimidation factor. Foggy really wanted to see the rest of his face, to lift that mask, but that was a while off. All he could hope for now was talking, friendship, at least acquaintances. They must be at that stage by now?

“Hah, yeah, luck. Go home.”

He thought he might be winning him over. They were talking a little more each time, but what would he have in common with him? It’s not going to be talking about their jobs and lives for a while. He wasn’t tired, and it was a Friday, so no colleagues to explain tiredness to in the morning. Foggy carried on walking the streets, mind lost in thought. Hoping that maybe the Devil would find him again at the end of the night, walk him home perhaps. He could dream. Perhaps, in the future, he could be the Devil’s man on the ground, find the info. Matt had always said he was too nosy for his own good. Matt though. And Karen. If he was off falling in love with a vigilante, how would that work? He couldn’t be a lawyer and right hand man to a vigilante.

And he still had that crush on Matt.

Who was painfully straight and catholic and nothing would ever happen there. He’d know, surely, if Matt was in love with him, they were so close. His face was so easy to read, his ma would say he was an open book, showing every emotion. Matt was just, oblivious, or refusing to acknowledge, how Foggy felt about him.

If it weren’t for the crime he knew stalked these streets, he’d feel almost peaceful walking them in the dark. He knew there was someone watching out for him though, for the city. It was almost enough to make him want to stay out all night, for a chance to speak again, but it was getting steadily colder, and his bed was calling him. All the clubs and bars were closed by now, most other people gone home. A few cars drove by, and he imagined what they were up to, early birds going to work, a family travelling home after a holiday? Night shift workers ready for a rest. No one else foolish enough to be walking out in the cold, as the wind picked up. Waiting, stood under a streetlight, he called an uber, thankful for the quieter times granting him with a shorter wait.

A black car pulled up, and by now shivering, he just jumped into the back seat, murmuring a quiet thanks, and hoping for a quiet and short ride. The guy driving was silent, Foggy forgot his name and clicked back onto the app, to at least be polite and thank him by name when they arrive. His hands cold by now, he rubbed them together, his phone not recognising him first time. As he opened the app, a message came through.

_UBERDRIVER:Sorry for the delay, unexpected diversion. Be with you in 2 minutes. Bethany_

A cold chill ran through his body, and he looked up, out the window and then at the driver, who seemed calm, collected, just another worker. But they weren’t heading the right way.

What even were the chances of another car coming to the same place as he was? Unless they were just looking for idiotic people who didn’t remember the first bits of advice for getting in other people’s cars, like speaking to them, and checking their name. He tried to gauge how fast they were going, could he just get out and survive? The chances of them hitting lights or traffic were so low, they weren’t bound to stop until they got to wherever they were going.

He was fucked. He was going to have to jump out and deal with whatever road rash that left him with. Hopefully just that, and not a broken leg. What if they chased him? Would he have to run. Fuck. If he broke something he wouldn’t be able to run.

Could he stop the car, without the driver attacking him? Could he get the driver out of action, slam on the brakes. What if he wasn’t evil though, what if this is just some ridiculous glitch with Uber that has matched up the wrong people.

He made eye contact with the driver in the mirror, and he reached over and locked the doors. Definitely a sign for concern. He could still unlock them and jump out, but that would give the driver more chance to realise what was happening. To put it bluntly, he was fucked. Well and truly a pig off to slaughter.

Lights behind them showed a car catching up, headlights dazzling, before pulling up beside them. The passenger door opened, and a gloved hand reached out, trying to open Foggy’s door. The driver, realising what was happening, started to speed up, but the other car followed, matching the speed. Foggy opened the door, unclipping his belt, knowing, trusting who was in that car. And then the most terrifying thing of his life, jumping, falling, across the gap between two speeding cars. Ending up sprawled across the back-seat, on top of the Devil. Foggy had so many thoughts in his mind, which, not the time, or the place. They scrambled to sit upright, closing the door, even as their car turned down a side street, heading back towards the Kitchen.

“How, the fuck, did you end up in that situation.” The Devil held his head in his hands, disbelief written in his whole posture, his silhouette dark in the back of the car.

“I was trying, to take an Uber home. Turns out the car I got into? Not my Uber. What sort of psychic powers do you have to know I was in trouble?”

“You’ve made yourself my problem. I was patrolling, keeping an eye to see when you headed home. Heard you get into a car, and then two minutes later another car pulled up, and a lady called your name. Fairly obvious you were not where you were supposed to be.”

“You were spying on me?”

“I saved your life, but yes, if you want to look at it that way, I spied on you whilst you went for your late night walk. Luckily Simon was around, he’s always wanted to be a sidekick, and I needed a fast driver.”

“Okay, yeah, that, what we just did, that was not normal. That was something I hope to never have to do in the future.”

“Don’t get in random cars then Franklin.” Foggy’s brain short-circuited at the use of his name, immediately lost for words. “I’ll get out here thanks Simon, I owe you.” The car slowed, and the Devil hopped out, running straight into the darkness of an alleyway.

“Where to sir?” Still in a daze ‘He knows my name’ Foggy told him his address. Once they arrived, he tried to pass over some money, but it was refused.

“Me and D, we got an arrangement. It’s all good. Stay safe.” He was brought up better than that, so he dropped some money on the back seat as he left. He wasn’t going to begin to question what sort of agreement the Devil and Simon had. He’d unpack whatever happened tonight in the morning, when he’d had a few more hours sleep.

“How does he know my name? I know he said he heard it being called for the real Uber, but that can’t be it. Is he psychic? Have I told him my name already? I wouldn’t have told him Franklin though. Maybe he’s psychic. Shit what if he can read minds.” He froze. “Shit what if he can read minds.”

* * *

In his defence, he’d decided to stop going out Devil hunting. He’d taken it a bit too far last time, and he needed to give them both a break. Stressing the Devil out wasn’t going to make him fall in love. If that was ever going to happen. Kinda missed him though. But he was honestly only out to go pick up a takeaway, only walking a couple blocks for a pizza. But there was a girl outside, looking frozen to death, and terrified. He was early, so he tried to talk to her, see what was wrong, see if he could help. And then an older woman came outside, grabbing the girl’s arm and pulling her away. He could see the fear in her eyes, a plea for help.

“Hey! What are you doing? She doesn’t look like she wants to be with you.” He tried, failed, to sound intimidating, but he had nothing on him, and she soon drew a small knife. Brandishing it towards him, a clear gesture of threat.

“She’s fine, we’re fine, leave us alone.”

“She doesn’t look fine. She looks scared, and cold.”

“Don’t get involved in things that don’t involve you. It’s her own fault.”

“That’s really not reassuring me.” He grabbed his phone, wanting to call the cops, if he could just prevent them from leaving.

“No. Don’t.” She got up in his face, his back was already against the wall, and the knife was resting against his neck.

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” Dropping his phone back into his pocket, he held his hands up, praying she’d back off, she wouldn’t hear the dial tone as it still continued to call. “See, gone, hands up, I don’t mean you any harm. I’m just worried about her, she looks frozen. Let me know what’s going on, I won’t call the cops.”

“I already told you, she’s fine. It’s none of your business.”

“Just a concerned citizen. Is she your daughter or something?” He could hear the dispatcher on the other end asking for location, and details.

“She’s under my care.”

“Your care. Surely a coat or something would have been good with this weather? The nights are certainly getting colder at the moment.”

“She doesn’t feel the cold, tried to get her to wear one.”

“She looks about 16, and you can’t get her to wear a coat in this weather?” The knife, which had started to drop, was brought back up, a level of threat in the glare from the woman. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Please, mind the knife, I’d rather we didn’t draw blood tonight.”

“You’re a nosy guy mister.”

“Just concerned. I was just out for a walk, off to get some dinner actually from Claudio’s, got about a block away and I see this poor girl in the cold, alone, seemingly lost.” He couldn’t hear his phone anymore. Wasn’t sure if help was on the way. In either form that could take at this time of the night, the Devil or the police.

“Well thanks for your concern, but we are fine.” She grabbed the girls arm again, starting to walk away from Foggy. Something wasn’t right, he didn’t have to be a lawyer to know she was lying, or at least omitting some of the truth.

He moved to follow them, to stop them, to stall them, only to be met by a knife thrown towards, and past him.

“Back off, else I won’t miss next time.” She drew another knife, and he froze to the spot. He didn’t really want to die here, caught in a fight against some stranger. Not for the first time, he wondered how the devil did it, how he fought every night, and carried on fighting. He really ought to take some form of self-defence class.

Or he could just wait for the sight of those horns on the rooftop. He let out a barely noticeable sigh, held at an impasse with the two women. They all jumped when silent as a ghost, the Devil dropped to the floor behind them, a slight grin on his face. “We got a problem here?”

“This guy has been harassing me and my daughter.”

“I don’t think its her daughter. She doesn’t look safe, or happy.” Filled with confidence, he’d helped the Devil, they could stop whatever was happening here together.

“I thought you were keeping out of trouble?” The Devil hissed at him, and he felt shame fill him. This wasn’t following the script in his mind.

“Tried to, I was just going for pizza.”

“Did you call the cops?” He did that head tilt thing a lot, as though he was trying to listen for something.

”I tried, not sure of it went through.”

“They’re on their way, heard the radios go, thought I’d come investigate the knife.”

“Yeah that was me. Well, on the wrong side of the knife.”

The Devil always looked terrifying in the shadows. Dark suit, low voice, the faintest hint of human through his uncovered lower face. They’d all heard the rumours, that he was actually a devil, a demon. That he was psychic, enhanced, not quite human. He moved like a hunter, all sharp movements and kicks, and he soon had placed himself in between the two women, protecting the younger and facing down to the older. “So, I’ll ask again, is there a problem here? Because she is terrified over there, and I really don’t think she wants to go with you.”

Foggy stepped closer, trying to get to the girl, a hand outstretched in support. “I got you, we got you, you’re safe.” But the sirens beat him, even as the Devil ran into the alleyway, and the women turned to run. And then there were bright lights, police surrounding the three of them, as questions were asked, statements were given. He thought he’d won, as the two were both placed into separate cars, and he was free to go, to finally get that pizza.

Was this what it was like to help? To not know what happened next, if he did the right thing, if that girl would be safe now?

He kind of wished the Devil was still around, he looked like he could do with a pizza, a break. And what better opportunity to bond than over a slice of pizza.

* * *

He’d heard of the ongoing fight through Twitter. Gunshots, dozens of men, and the Devil. And, well, he was bored, and overdue a chat with his crush. Pulling on a jacket, he walked the short distance to where it was last seen, a building site, scaffolding poles, exposed beams, bare walls. The wind whistling through empty windows. And up on the top floor, he could see flashes of movement, the red of the Devil, or perhaps the red of blood, against a number of indescribable men. He never got bored of watching him fight in person, even if every movement made him seem a little less human, as he dodged things he couldn’t have possibly seen coming. Punches, kicks, flips out of the way. It was a warped dance, of near death and injuries. Like a film, it didn’t seem real, didn’t seem as though the Devil could come to any sort of harm. He’d always win, always walk, or limp home, to wherever that may be.

As expected, the Devil was winning. It looked like he was tiring, movements becoming steadily slower, but the numbers of men fighting him also decreasing, as they pulled each other out of the building, or simply disappeared from sight.

Foggy gasped, as a blow landed on the Devil, almost toppling his balance. The figure froze, looking out, at the noise, before throwing himself back into the fight. But he seemed distracted now, a half tilt to Foggy stood outside, and he realised too late that he was causing a distraction, worrying the Devil.

As the suited figure toppled down where there should have been stairs, he cursed himself, cursed his nosiness. The men fighting looked at each other and ran, a shout of “We killed the Devil,” even as they paced down the road.

“Fuck, fuck.” Foggy ran, towards the scene, ducking under the tape surrounding the site. Moving to where the Devil had fallen, praying, hoping, he wasn’t actually dead. He was met with a groaning figure, barely holding onto consciousness, splayed out in the open space. There was no blood, no horribly looking broken bones.

“Can you stand, I’ve got you, it’s Franklin, you’re fine, you’re safe.” They worked together, the Devil not speaking, but letting himself be pulled up, an arm draped around Foggy’s shoulders, and half walking, half being dragged, out of the construction. Foggy added first aid to the courses he wanted to take, he wasn’t really sure how much he’d be able to help the devil right now. Would he need a hospital? He echoed this thought to the half conscious Devil, only to be with a whispered reply, of “No hospitals. Call Simon.”

“Simon, the taxi?” The Devil passed a phone, a burner, nothing but a small list of contacts on it. All first names, no details, and he scrolled to Simon.

‘Hey D, what’s up?’

‘Not D, he’s in some trouble. Its Foggy, Franklin, you helped rescue me a couple weeks ago. D’s not in a great shape, asked me to ring you.’ Words spilled out of his mouth like water, a babbling panic.

‘Where are you?’ Rattling of his location, Simon hung up, and Foggy returned his attention to the Devil, who was leaning more and more on him, looking paler and paler.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you. Don’t pass out on me, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

“Concussion. Just, rest. Nothing broke.” A screech of tires showed the taxi speeding round the corner, coming to a stop in front of them. He pushed the Devil in first, who basically fell in, limbs lose and unhelpful.

“What happened to him?” Simon asked, already driving even as Foggy’s door was barely closed.

“Fell down some stairs, said nothings broken and he’s just concussed. He doesn’t look in a good state, said no hospitals and wanted me to ring you.”

His eyes on the road, Simon sped onwards, grumbling as they hit a red light, tapping his hand against the steering wheel. “Sounds about right for him. Double check nothings broken when you get him in, he’s good at lying about injuries.”

“Wait, get him in? I assumed you were taking him somewhere to get checked over.”

“As far as I’m aware, you’ve made yourself his problem, you can deal with looking after him until he wakes up. Concussion, so check for other injuries, then try to wake him up, and then keep him awake. It looks pretty bad, he’ll need keeping an eye on for a few days.”

”You really think he’ll let someone mother him?”

“He probably would if it’s you. Doesn’t shut up about you, constantly cursing you for getting into trouble. He does like you back, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty obvious. Here, your place. Need a hand?”

Together they somehow got the Devil up and standing, some attempt at words slurring in his mouth, but his expression mainly confused. A slow, dangerous trek upstairs, during which Foggy was glad for the extra help, before Simon left him at the door, a wish of good luck. He tried to get him to stay, but was unlucky, Simon claiming a return to work. And as he walked away, a mutter of “Doesn’t need all of us knowing who’s under the mask.”

“Shit, shit, shit. I’m not built for this.” Dragging the now unresponsive vigilante towards the couch, he gave up, letting the heavy limbs fall to the floor. “Now what. Fuck.” Turning on all the lights, he noticed how pale the devil was, although thankfully still breathing. “Okay, so concussion? Check the eyes Foggy. Check the brain, and then the body.” Crouching down, his hands hovered over the mask, willing him to wake up so he wouldn’t have to do this. But silence was all that met him.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault.” He hooked his fingers under the edge of the mask, slowly starting to pull it away, watching for any signs of the Devil awakening, any hint of blood from an injury he hadn’t known about. Removed, he sat back in shock.

“Matt? What?”

Slowly little things started to make more sense. How the way Matt acted had changed around Foggy since he’d started his challenge of befriending the Devil. Similarities between them he’d noticed and ignored, thinking he just had a type.

But that wasn’t important now. Fuck was he even blind?

Finding a torch revealed either blind or severely concussed. He hoped the former. But he still slept on. As he unzipped the suit, he tried to work out if it was easier or harder knowing who was underneath, if he was injured. But it was irrelevant. He’d done this, his foolish game had no winners. Nothing looked broken, just a rainbow of various aged bruises, and cuts. And scars. So so many scars, nasty ones, old ones, new ones. A mess of a body given to the city. All of this, he’d hidden from Foggy. All those years of knowing each other, and Matt was going out every night, fighting. But still playing the part of the blind defenceless lawyer.

All those accidents. That weren’t real. Injuries played off as clumsiness, but in reality, from fights, from a Devil.

He stood up, going to raid his own clothes for something for Matt. Comfy sweats, and a hoodie he thinks once belonged to Matt, lent to him one cold evening. There was something, almost wrong, about changing him, losing the devil suit, the mask. He looked so innocent and small dressed up in Foggy’s clothes, unresponsive and quiet.

He wasn’t sure how to feel. Angry, guilty. In love still. Wanting something more, something different to this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They were supposed to have a happy ending. If Matt was the Devil, and the Devil was Matt, then what did that make Foggy?

If Simon said D loved Foggy, was happy to leave them together, in the knowledge that Foggy would remove Matt’s mask? Did he know who Matt was underneath? Or did he know D knew Foggy more than he let on?

They had always said that taxi drivers were the source of all the knowledge in the kitchen. If you wanted to find some gossip, or a rumour, it was best to take a ride. He thought he’d known everything there was to know about Matt Murdock. Taken him as a quiet man, didn’t get up too much in the evening. Relied on his friends, didn’t have many friends, but told them everything.

Not everything though. Not this, not what was most important.

“It isn’t that we shouldn’t have any secrets.” Foggy started speaking to himself, as he sat with the silent Matt. Watching, waiting for some sign of life. “Secrets were part of friendship, hiding the birthday presents, the ideas, who you had a crush on. The fact you were in love with your best friend.

But this? That you were a vigilante, stalking the streets and getting yourself injured? Do you have anyone who’s looking out for you Matt? Anyone who could pick up the pieces if you’re too injured to get home?”

He didn’t stir, even as Foggy pulled him up onto the couch, covering him in a blanket. Digging out painkillers, ready for him to wake up. “Let me be the one to look after you Matt. Let yourself have support, have people who know who you are, who can help you.”

“I love you, and I want to look after you. But I can’t without knowing who are are, and how you feel about me.” He fluffed up the pillows, not wanting to look at Matt’s face. The feeling of guilt too strong. He sent a prayer up, to Matt’s God. To the dinosaurs they worshipped through college, and then relocated to the office. That he’d wake up soon. He knew it was only a concussion, hoped it was only a concussion. Trusted the Devil’s, Matt’s, words that he would just need to rest. “You let me put myself in danger. Watched me put myself in danger, rescued me over and over again. My foolish attempts at showing you how I felt.”

A brief groan signified Matt’s re-acquaintance with the world, apologies tumbling out of his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Matt! You’re alive, okay, stay awake, stay with me.”

“I don’t wanna. I’m sorry Fogs.” He reached up, scrubbing at his face, a wince of pain shooting through his expression.

“We’ll get through the apologies and all that later. You’ve got a concussion, you gotta stay awake, stay with me buddy.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you fell down, I don’t know how far. You knocked yourself out. Do you remember what happened, how we got home?”

Foggy’s heart broke at the face Matt gave him. Confusion and fear, he looked close to tears.

“I- I don’t know. There was a fight. You were there? I got distracted, and fell. Simon was there? We’re at your apartment now?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t let me take you to a hospital, and then Simon seemed to trust me with you. Does he know who you are?”

“I don’t think so. He’s helped me out a few times, gives me info, doesn’t want any money ever for giving me lifts. None of them do to be honest, he calls them his boys, they’ve all helped me out a fair bit. I tol’ you uber was evil.” His voice was still tired and confused, and his eyes kept slipping closed.

“In fairness, I did just walk into the wrong uber.”

“Not the point Fogs. You could ha’ got kidnapped, you did get kidnapped.”

“You let me carry on throwing myself into danger though.”

“I kinda hoped you’d get bored, stop trying to catch me.” The concussion, the tiredness, was making his voice breathy, some words still slurring. “I knew what you were doing, but knew the only way to stop you was to tell you, and I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“You should have told me years ago Matt. The Devils been around for ages, and you must have been doing this before. Those attacks at college that stopped from a masked vigilante? Was that you?”

“Yes.”

“Since college? You’ve been throwing yourself into danger, you could have died, and I would have never known. Are you really blind?”

“Yes, really blind. No light perception.”

“How do you do it? I know you’re fit enough to do it, you never stopped working out, training. Are you psychic, like the rumours say?”

“Psychic?” He laughed, a little more colour coming into his face. “No, when I lost my sight, all my other senses, they got turned up to 11. I hear, _everything_ , across the city. I can hear the police chattering through their radios, a phone call from the room next door. I piece together the room through the way the air moves, a little bit like echolocation, from sound bouncing off walls. I can’t see, but I can. I can never watch television, but I can make out actors on a stage from outside the theatre. I can’t read, but I can track a car across the city.”

“Why do you use a cane?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but it was too late, the apologies too slow.

“It’s fine. I still need help. I can’t concentrate on everything at once, I’d get overloaded. I need to tune it out, ignore what’s not important. The cane helps, stops me from tripping over tiles whilst I’m listening to something else. And I am, truly blind. I can’t pick up on facial expressions, I can’t read, I can’t pick up all the visual things you can. It’s a message to other people, because I do need that help. I do need to be led sometimes. There’s a reason the devil doesn’t go outside of Hell’s Kitchen, and it’s not because he’s protective. It’s because I know what the Kitchen’s like, I know the roads, the streets. If I get lost, I can’t look at a sign to know where I am. If I’m lost as the Devil, I can’t go up to a stranger and ask where I am. If I stay in the Kitchen, I know the roads, I can find my way home. There’s a reason I still have that awful ticking clock in my apartment.”

“I spent far too many nights sitting in the cold, crushing over the Devil, and it was you. But with all these supersenses, how didn’t you know how I felt? How didn’t you know the reason I was putting myself into trouble?”

“You never acted any different than you always had around me. Even as Daredevil, you were scared, of whatever was happening to you, but you still acted the same. Just, Foggy, friendly. Not the way you acted when you were chatting up girls in the pub or at college.”

“Matt. Engage that lawyer brain a bit more. I’ve always acted the same way around you.”

“Yes. Ohh.” He wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or just Matt that was this slow to pick up on things.

“Acting different around girls? Matt, I’m gay, we went through this. I was terrified and trying to keep up with society’s expectations, find a girl, fall in love, get married. But I couldn’t with you just there, waiting for me.”

“Oh.” Matt looked over confused, and somewhat pleased. “So- so you mean I could do this?” He reached over for Foggy’s face, hands almost missing, and trying to pull him closer.

“If you weren’t concussed, then yes. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that Matt.” He gently held Matt’s hand, rubbing slow circles. “We really need to get better with talking.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And we’re banning those words. We’re going to get you healed up, and talk again, when you’re fully in your right mind. Although as a man who dresses up in a leather suit at night, I don’t know when that will be.”

”I’m in my right mind Fogs.”

“You’re concussed. A helpful internet search told me that concussions can cause changed or unusual behaviours. We’ve seen the struggling to stay awake, although you’re better now. Can’t ask you if you’re seeing stars I suppose, and you were struggling with balance getting here, although I’m not sure if that was the tiredness. So we’re waiting until you’re sorted, and then we can sleep, and then we can work out what we are.”

“Hmm.”

“Fuck, I got out painkillers. Your head must be sore.” He shook them out of the packet, passing them over to Matt alongside a glass of water. “Here, by your hand. And painkillers.” It was a show of the level of trust Matt had in him, that he took them without argument, but Foggy wouldn’t know that. Wouldn’t know of Matt’s general unwillingness to take any sort of assistance. He’d learn, as they continued talking through the night, keeping Matt present and awake. Even as they dosed off together, curled on the sofa, he set alarms, waking them both up every half an hour. He wasn’t really sure where he’d seen that, but he was sure if you had a concussion that was what you did. All the advice said go to hospital, but that wasn’t happening. As Matt dozed, or meditated, he looked up more advice, with better news for their next alarm.

“If you can walk to the bed, I can let you sleep properly. Doctor Internet says you can rest and sleep after a concussion if you can carry on a conversation, and walk without difficulty. And if your eyes aren’t dilated, but we’ll pass on that one. What do you reckon?”

“Please.”

“Generally, you remember where you’re going right? We usually stay at yours, and I know you tend to act, or genuinely, struggle with all the doors in this place.”

“I do genuinely struggle. And your furniture shifts with the building, it’s never in the same place.” He grimaced, almost seeming to regret what he was saying. “I go off of the back of the sofa, but the doors are close together, I have to check every time.”

“I didn’t realise, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was just that we were usually drunk whenever we where here, or what. You got used to the office quickly, and we don’t venture here often. It moves?”

“Slowly, slow enough you’d have never noticed, but this sofa definitely has shifted a fair bit from last time. It’s an old building Fogs, its all a little bit wonky.”

”You’re telling me. You can’t see the pictures hung on the wall. I’ve just accepted, that like me, they’ll never be straight.” Foggy could see he tried, tried his best to keep a straight face, but that that line had broken him. “It wasn’t even that funny Matt! Matt! You’re just tired.” He trailed off, joining in on the laughter. “We both need to sleep. Come on, up you get, towards the bed. I got you.”

They stood, Matt looking a little wobbly, but determined. He looked looser, Foggy thought, more relaxed, like some part of a mask had fallen away.

“Okay, the floors clear, just mind the edge of the rug in a sec.” He hovered behind him, checking for hazards. Worried still about dealing with a concussion, and a concussion for a blind vigilante with supersenses. “Bathroom or bedroom we going for? You’re on a beeline for the bedroom right now, bathroom would be two steps to your left.”

He carried on forward, stopping just inside the bedroom door. “Wait Fogs where are you going to sleep?”

“Couch.” Matt’s face, well, crumpled would be the best way to describe it. “It’s a pull-out Matt, I’ve got spare duvets and that. You need a proper bed, you’re injured.” Matt continued to make that awful face, like a puppy that had been kicked. “Nope, no arguing. Get in that bed and go to sleep. I’ll set myself up on the couch.”

Matt murmured something, so quietly Foggy couldn’t hear, but he could see the slight grin that accompanied it.

“What was that?”

“We could share the bed. We’ve done it a thousand times.”

“That was before we realised we needed to work out who and what we were. And before I dragged you back to my house in a vigilante’s suit with a concussion. Now sleep. I’ll manage the couch.”

Defeated, Matt traipsed the rest of the distance to the bed, collapsing onto it. “Wonderful, you passed the walking test. Night Matt.”

Foggy paused at the door, hand over the light switch, about to ask Matt if he wanted it left on. He simply smiled, before clicking it off, and pulling it closed. Grabbing spare sheets, he set up his own bed, clicking on alarms for a couple hours time, just to check on Matt.

They made it through the night, awaking not quite refreshed, but a little more healed, a little more steady in their thoughts. A look through his cupboards revealed just enough ingredients for pancakes for breakfast.

“I felt whatever talk we need to have now requires pancakes.”

“And painkillers.” Matt dropped to the sofa with a wince, holding a hand up to his head. “I have an awful headache.”

“A concussion. From almost cracking your head open.”

“Okay, yeah. Still hurts though.” Foggy passed over the pack, alongside a coffee. “Thanks Fogs.”

Breakfast served, they sat in silence for a while. Neither one wanting to be the first to talk. The clinking of cutlery stopped, Foggy steepling his hands in front of him.

“Okay. I have an inkling suspicion concussed Matt is a lot chattier than normal Matt, about his feelings and powers? Would I be correct?”

Matt winced, placing aside his own place and cup, and twisting towards Foggy. Having been in the suit the night before, he remained in Foggy’s clothes, his glasses at home, leaving his face clear, and open, and full of pain. “Everyday Matt is going to try and be more open and honest?” It was phrased as a question, an admission, a voice to try and improve.

“Thank you. I-I think we’ve got a lot we need to catch up on, from the start.” Why was he nervous, now? This was what he’d been waiting for for years.

“Right from the start? Okay.” And with that, Matt poured out his heart, not thinking, not hesitating. Knowing to stop once would stop it all. From the moment he lost his sight, lost his father. Training with Stick. Living in the orphanage. Getting into Columbia. Meeting Foggy. The fights to prove himself, that Foggy never even knew about, arguments in the support office, against lecturers, against students. Hearing the screams and sneaking out at night. Hiding bruises and injuries. Suiting up again, and again. All the years of lies, and half truths. Dealing with Foggy putting himself in danger, the worry and stress. Not knowing how Foggy felt. Feeling so trapped and wrong with himself that he couldn’t tell Foggy. Not even when he had countless opportunities. When Foggy came out to him, and all he wanted to do was the same. The ongoing pressure of having no one to talk to. By the end, his breathing was starting to run ragged, tears shining in his eyes.

“You’ve got me Matt. I’ve got you. I’m so so proud of you, and I’m so glad you finally told me. I just wish it had been sooner.”

“Me too. Sorry Fogs, I’ve been a fool.”

“We both have.” Tears from both of them, as they cuddled up together. Foggy resting his head in the mess of Matt’s hair, their hands intertwined.

They sat there, in silence, before Matt spoke up again. “What does this make us?”

“I think I like the word partner still. A little sense of mysterious. Partners, in law, in crime, in love.”

“Best damn avocados Hell’s Kitchen has seen.”

“Abogados.”

”Nah, definitely avocados.”

“Fuck. Who’s going to be the one to tell Karen?”

“She probably already knows. She’s not rung yet to ask why we’re late.”


End file.
